


To Make a Wish Come True

by zetsubou69



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet, Gen, can be read either way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23925319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubou69/pseuds/zetsubou69
Summary: After a long time of watching his dad do drugs while his mom is depressed, young PC Peter Grant seeks a better future (and past) for his family. He decides to go to a place where for the right price, someone can make that happen.
Relationships: Peter Grant & Thomas Nightingale, Peter Grant/Thomas Nightingale
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	To Make a Wish Come True

In every city, there is a place like the Folly.

It doesn’t have to be exactly like this, but it served the same purpose. A place people go, when there is nowhere else to go. The truth is, every bigger city has several places like this. That is the nature of demand and supply. That is the nature of things.

That is the nature of the place that made your wishes come true, but only if you are desperate enough. Only if you are lost enough. Only if you have nothing to lose, or if you are willing to pay.

After the war, the world has changed.

Their numbers decimated so much only tenth of them were left. Left with no way to replenish their numbers, it was decided to focus on invoking the original price. The child of the deal would suffice as payment. Sometimes it meant that there was no child at all, but people still considered the original price to be worth the magic.

Whatever the magic was.

When the children were delivered, as the price demanded, they did not stay in the Folly. Too many people came begging to have them returned. The rules were clear and the deal was unbreakable once made.

The children themselves grew up in a safe place, a school or a sanctuary, if you will. Thomas fully believed that they were making the world a better place by giving these young souls what they need. If their parents couldn’t afford a steady roof over their heads and proper healthcare, Thomas doubted they would have enough willpower and resources to take care of children. There were only a few of them nowadays and once old enough, they were allowed to choose their own paths, slipping unnoticed into the society from which they had been uprooted.

One such child was Thomas himself. But he never strayed too far and now was the Master of the Folly, the man to grant the wishes. He loved every child that passed the house’s threshold. So many of them reminded him of his friends and colleagues and could-have-been-s.

The power he could wield changed him since his childhood. He became much more than he ever hoped to be, for the price of mundaneness that the majority of humanity lived in.

That night, Thomas was practising his craft in the study while seated in one of the comfortable leather armchairs, surrounded by handwritten tomes safely locked away in glass, brass, and oak bookcases, when a young black man used the brass knocker and knocked on the Folly’s main door three times.

The front door opened just a sliver. A long-haired woman dressed in an old maid outfit peeked out and a face full of despair. There was something wild about her, that the young man did not fully comprehend.

The young man knew his customs and asked formally to speak with the Lord of the House.

The maid let the man in and gliding, not walking, in front of him she led him to the study.

“I have heard that it is not wise to enter the Folly after sunset,” Thomas said instead of a greeting and gestured to an empty armchair. His guest froze, like a deer in headlights, pondering on what he just heard.

“Thank you, Molly,” he then turned to the maid. “I’ll take care of our guest. Refreshments aren't necessary.”

Molly nodded and instantly glided away. The young black man hesitated a bit then took a seat. Thomas knew well what a picture he makes, pale skin and eyes. He always took care to be impeccably dressed and to keep his hair smoothly combed. In a different world, he could have been a film star. He’s been told there was an aura of sharpness about him, an echo of wintery forest and pine needles and frost. His power sang even for those who didn’t want to hear.

“May I have your name?” he asked his guest.

“Peter Grant, son of Lord Grant and Mamasu Konomanyi,” the young man answered. He seemed to know the proper customs and etiquette. That was good. So many falsely believed that giving away their name would be very bad for them, while the opposite was true. The Folly was no Summer Court after all.

“Thank you. My name is Thomas Nightingale. What can I do for you, Mr Grant?” Thomas asked.

Peter took a hesitant breath.

“I’m here on behalf of my parents,” he said.

“Well, then speak, on behalf of your parents,” Thomas replied.

“My dad’s a junkie and he’s just relapsed again. He spent several years doing just what his doctor prescribed him instead of being completely sober, but now it’s worse than ever. He’s dying, and my mum is taking the burn of it. She cleans office spaces, you know? Not the best paid or the most glamorous job. I give them what I can of my salary, but it’s not enough, if he spends it on drugs. Three years ago he was supposed to start playing in a band again. His prescription was the lowest ever. And now everything’s fucked,” Peter explained with small tired pauses between sentences. “Because it’s a disease, you know? Even doctors agree on that. Addiction, just like depression, is a disease, but unlike a broken leg and exactly like aggressive cancer, it eats up everything there is to a person, and some more. I wish he was cured of the addiction back then, so it was never possible to end up this bad.”

And there it was. A wish. Something Thomas could make come true.

“I can make that happen,” he said and watched Peter look up to him hopefully.

“For the usual price, of course. The child of the deal,” Thomas clarified and smiled, showing off a perfect set of inhumanly sharp teeth.

Peter blinked once, twice, the third time, then a giggle of relief escaped him.

“Deal,” he says quickly, worried that the chance might disappear.

Thomas nodded.

“Very well. When you return home tonight, your parents will be in pristine health again. It will be as if the bad things never happened at all. Even the memory of their suffering will fade. Only you will remember it.”

Peter exhaled slowly.

“Thank you so much. You have no idea what they mean to me,” he said gratefully.

“Maybe I do. Let’s just hope the price wasn’t too much for you after all. Only time will tell,” he said and then stood up, waiting for his guest to catch on and get up too.

Peter did so, straightened up and looked Thomas straight in the eye.

“So, when do we start?”

Thomas frowned. By this point, the guests were usually very eager to run away.

“May I ask you to elaborate?”

“You said you wanted the child of the deal.”

“Yes. And you agreed.”

“My parents are the deal. And I’m single and gay so it’s highly improbable that you’ll be getting anything more from this bloodline. When do we start?” he asked again and he even dared to sound playful.

A soft blush spread over Thomas’s pale cheeks.

“Oh.”

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a post I found on Tumblr in April 2020. You might know which one.
> 
> If you liked what I made, let me know by writing to me. I am starving for feedback.


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